Who am I?

Who am I?

Sometimes a blade of grass

Cut down by metal,

Blowing freely in the wind,

The weather dictating movement

The mind in line with natural forces

The Earth a bloodstream that courses

Through my shortened self,

The mind it thinks that way some days

And tries to fight emotion off with a stick,

So quick to deny

To try and justify with why

To lie

To die in some ways

A poison, these thoughts,

All emotion

In all land and in all of the oceans

The piece of blade cut down

Kicks up

The wind

The ground

Is just enough

To blow,

As if a horn of truth

A silent muse

No longer refusing

No longer self abusing

No longer using the shortcomings of
Others as if a stick to beat myself down with,

Justification, why?

Acting out of anger

A cry for help—

To accept my truth,

My blade of grass cut down kicks up

The sun breaks through

A reflexive hue

To change

To see if I can undo

The hurt

The pain,

Either way

I vow to refrain

From the fire

Outside of desire

The evil deed

The deadened seed

That which sprouts the deadened weed

And leads me in err—

Outside the devil’s lair

I see my other half,

Still planted in the ground

I do not pound my chest

Instead my heart just rests

The pesticide inside me has not fully died

But I know that in the end I will have tried

To abide by the maxims I ascribe unto,

The sun breaks through

A reflexive hue

To change

To see if I can undo.